


I understand

by UnproblematicMe



Series: After the End that never came (TV based series) [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angels, Angst, Demons, Hurt, No Smut, but hey she has a lot of stress okay, dagon can be a bitch, don’t get used to any OCs, no real sexy action sorry, rating cause of language and suggestive themes and innuendos, they won’t die but I might never use them again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-24 10:29:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20356981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnproblematicMe/pseuds/UnproblematicMe
Summary: Aziraphale follows the lead of a demonic presence at an archeological site. What he finds surprises him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There is no place named Millforth with an archeological site nearby. At least I think there isn’t. If there was it would be a huuuuuge coincidence because – gasp – I made it all up. I know shit about archeology. I hope you find it in your hearts to forgive me and enjoy the story anyway.  
This story takes place in the same universe as “Burning the bridge”. You don’t have to read it to get this one, one detail might confuse you though if you don’t.  
Leave a comment or a kudo if you like, that always makes me happy. Feedback is appreciated, just please be constructive.

Nervously Aziraphale’s gaze switched between Crowley and the young dark-blond angel that forlornly stood near the book shop’s exit door. She contemplated fleeing, that much was obvious and of course to be expected from an angel confronted with a demon more powerful than her. But there was also an underlying stubbornness glinting in her emerald eyes that battled her instincts – quite successfully so far.

“If you believe for just one fucking second that we fall for a trap like that…,” Crowley growled at the woman (-shaped being).

“I told you it’s not a…”

“Yeah, I just don’t believe…”

“If you would just…”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. He hated tension almost as much as he loved complete sentences. And right now he felt a lot of the former and heard none of the latter. He cleared his throat unnecessarily noisy to gain the two bickering beings‘ attention.

“Maybe it would be wise to let… Lyriel, is it?” He paused to wait for her to give an affirmative nod before continuing: “…to let Lyriel finish her story before we make our decision.”

Crowley gave him a look that seemed to doubt his sanity, but Crowley often did that so it had lost its effect on Aziraphale somewhere around the 90s[1]. The two older beings stared at each other for quite a while, fighting their common battle of willpower.[2] Crowley was not to be underestimated in that regard, especially when his protective instincts flared, but whenever Aziraphale knew that reason was on his side, the demon was no match for him. And it was only reasonable to listen to Lyriel instead of just turning her down. After a while a low rumble escaped Crowley’s throat.

“Fine!” he hissed. “But if she just so much as thinks of doing something funny, I’ll rip her throat out.”

“That would be very rude!” Lyriel exclaimed resentful.

“As would betraying us be, dear,” Aziraphale smiled.

“I won’t betray you, I am an _angel_…” She stressed the last word, halted mid-sentence and bit her lip, obviously remembering that she was talking to the two beings in the universe who had no reason to view ‘being an angel’ as a plus on somebody’s reputation.

“Well, how about some tea?” Aziraphale tried to ease the tension with hospitality.

“Right,” Crowley frowned but gestured for Lyriel to follow him to the back room while Aziraphale went to prepare tea.

When the angel after a while joined the two, he hit a thick wall of uncomfortable silence. Crowley was lounging on the couch as always and to someone who had not known him since the beginning of time he might seem calm and relaxed. But Aziraphale noticed the tell-tale signs of his inner tension and the turmoil inside him caused by the presence of an angel that was not Aziraphale.

Aziraphale put on a friendly smile before asking his visitor how she liked her tea, a question she unsurprisingly knew no answer to because it appeared to be her first time to “consume gross matter”. He added a splash of milk and one spoon of sugar, hoping for the best. Then he prepared Crowley’s tea as well as his own as usual.

After they all were settled, he smiled at the young angel and encouraged her to speak, doing his best to cancel out the dangerous glare that Crowley gave her.

“Well, as I was saying – before a blade was at my throat…,” Lyriel began with a disapproving glance at Crowley. “I was near an archeological site in Ireland. I had heard rumors that one of the caverns the humans found there could possibly hide real ancient magic. Worried for the humans’ safety I went there to have a closer look. And indeed I felt a demonic presence in the cavern. A strong one!”

She interrupted herself to sigh in defeat.

“Too strong for me,” she admitted. “So I retreated.”

“And why did you come to me, dear?” Aziraphale asked. “Just like yourself I am a mere principality. A demon too strong for you, is sure too strong for me as well.”

“Well, for one you used to be a warrior,” Lyriel answered hesitantly. “And…”

“And what?” Crowley snapped impatiently.

The young angel now lowered her voice and said in a conspiratory tone: “They say that you can walk through hellfire.”

“Ehm…”

“The archangels are acting all secretive, but rumor has it you defeated them all in battle when they tried to punish you,” she went on excitedly. “And then you escaped Heaven, rushed to Hell, walked through walls of hellfire and fought the Lords of Hell to free… Crowley, is it?”

She looked at Crowley whose scowl had turned into an amused smirk.

“Oh, she is well informed,” he grinned, sarcasm dropping from his lips.

Sarcasm that was of course lost to the inexperienced angel and her eyes went wide before she breathed: “So, it’s all true?”

Aziraphale sighed. The archangels always had had a talent to cause a firework of speculations by keeping too many secrets from their lower ranked brethren.

“Well, it wasn’t exactly…,” the older angel began but was interrupted.

“I suppose you know how we escaped Hell on a hellhound’s back?” said Crowley innocently, earning a stern look from his best friend.

Lyriel stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed, but Aziraphale decided against feeding the rumor mill further.

“You should not believe everything you hear, my dear,” he smiled before raising an eyebrow at Crowley. “Especially not from unreliable resources like… let’s say, the serpent of Eden.”

“So, it’s not true?” She was confused now.

“Well, the archangels did try to execute me with Hellfire and failed.” It was not really a lie, Aziraphale told himself. That had been the archangel’s plan and it had been unsuccessful. There was no need for Lyriel to know that the reason for the failure was the fact that they had had the wrong delinquent at their hands.

“So they really tried to…” Lyriel´s excited expression faded and was followed by one of sadness and loss. Aziraphale could only imagine that his own face must have looked like that when he failed to get the Metatron on his side to save the world, when he had to learn and accept that nobody of high rank in Heaven cared for humanity.

_“We’re meant to be the good guys for Heaven’s sake.”_ Crowley had told the archangels that wanted to kill him, as Aziraphale knew. Until this very day he was not sure whether the demon had said that because he thought Aziraphale would say such a thing, or because Crowley himself had had some tiny remains of faith in Heaven left until then. Lyriel learning that her leaders were willing to murder one of their own for protecting humanity (as was his job as a principality), was probably a similar faith-shattering experience.

Even Crowley took pity on the young angel upon seeing her expression and swallowed the cynical remark that undoubtedly was dancing at the tip of his forked tongue.

“Yes, they did, my dear,” Aziraphale spoke as gently as he could. After the information had settled and Lyriel – though still clearly shaken – appeared to be perceptive again, he inquired: “Speaking of the archangels: Why did you not go to them when you felt that demonic presence? Whatever it was, an archangel sure would be able to deal with it, wouldn’t they?”

“Good question, angel!” Crowley said, distrust, doubt and – most of all – spite back in his voice and demeanor. “The ‘archangel fucking Gabriel’ loves to show off why he is the big boss. And Sandalphon! Always in for a good smiting! Michael! Had so much fun throwing us all down in the Sulphur pool, bet she misses kicking fallen butt. Uriel…”

“Yes!” Lyriel interrupted his rant, her vessel’s porcelain face blushing a little. “I went to Uriel. I talked to her before I went to Ireland. Let her know that I wanted to check on the rumors to make sure the humans in that area are not in danger.”

“Yeah, but why…,” Crowley started, but a fracture of a second later his golden eyes lit up in understanding and he said, almost amazed: “She said ‘no’. Uriel forbade you to go there.”

Eyes cast down, cheeks reddened and biting her lip, Lyriel nodded slowly.

“She said that everything is chaotic enough right now without principalities leaving their post to play detective,” the young angel explained after a while. “But I thought what if one of the archeologists or their workers get hurt? Or worse: what if it’s a curse that spreads as soon as the people return home? So I…”

She hesitated.

“Yes?” Aziraphale and Crowley asked at the same time, though with a different amount of patience in their voices.

“I sabotaged their equipment, caused a minor landslip to close the cavern in question and started a rumor in the nearby village that the site was haunted,” she blurted out and upon seeing Aziraphale’s perplexed expression, she explained: “To buy some time. I couldn’t use miracles lest the archangels find out so they will be able to fix their machines and free the entrance. And the people in the village were not as superstitious as Irish people according to ‘An Angel’s guide to Earth’ should be.”

“To be fair, it was written a couple of hundred years ago,” Crowley snickered and Aziraphale sighed.[3]

“Anyway, they say you no longer answer to Heaven but are still on the humans’ side, so I thought you could and would help,” Lyriel finally said.

Aziraphale bit his lip to keep himself from saying that his being on humanity’s side was the very reason he and Heaven were no longer on speaking terms. But the young angel already had enough to take in, without him rubbing salt in fresh wounds.

“Well, I wouldn’t want innocent humans to suffer from my disagreement with Heaven...,” he said after thinking about Lyriel’s story.

Next to him Crowley sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically. And that demon had the nerve to call Aziraphale ‘passive-aggressive’.[4] But the angel had to admit that decisions like that were no longer his alone. Crowley had been nothing but patient with him and had never blamed him for clinging to Heaven for far longer than he should have. Now that Aziraphale had committed himself to their own side, the demon had the right to expect for certain things to be decided together.

“Let us sleep on it,” the older angel finally said to the younger. “If it is alright with you, I will contact you tomorrow.”

Lyriel nodded. She looked tired, confused and a little lost. Aziraphale felt another rush of sympathy for her. Maybe he should have let her know that Gabriel had not been involved in the archangels’ attempt to murder him[5] but that, too, was something he should discuss with Crowley before sharing the information with others. After all it was in their best interest if both Heaven and Hell talked as little as possible about the failed execution. The less talk, the less interest, the less risk someone might get suspicious.

Again Aziraphale offered her a friendly and – hopefully – comforting smile before he clasped his thighs and got up. After straightening his clothes he accompanied the young angel to the shop’s door and wished her a good day before she left.

*

While his angel saw the other angel out, Crowley rubbed his eyes. He did not like that, not one bit. It had been such a wonderful time. No representative of Heaven or Hell in sight. Just Aziraphale and himself. The worst thing was that Lyriel was being honest. Crowley was still a demon and, while no Lord or Prince, a powerful one. He was sure that an angel as young and inexperienced as Lyriel would not be capable of deceiving him. Her request was honest, her trust in Aziraphale as real as her disappointment at the archangels. In addition to that Crowley could not deny that he grudgingly respected Lyriel’s boldness in attempting to protect the humans at and near the archeological site.

In summary: There really was a possible demonic threat against a bunch of innocent humans brought to Aziraphale’s attention. It would be close to impossible for the angel not to investigate. Retired or not, protecting people was what Aziraphale did and it was one of the reasons Crowley had respected him from the start and grown to love him over time. And if Crowley was honest with himself[6], he disliked the thought of ancient demonic power harming innocent people, too.

That was why he did not put up a very hard fight when Aziraphale came back and suggested to follow the lead to Ireland and make sure no humans were in immediate danger. For good measure he made some weak remarks like how it could still be a trap, one Lyriel herself was not aware off. How she could be a tool of the archangels. Or how it was possible that Hell had spread the rumors, hoping that a naïve principality would seek out Aziraphale when the archangels turned them down.[7] But of course in the end Crowley caved.

He put on a very thoughtful face while he put his arms around the angel and said generously: “I know how important humanity’s safety is for you, so I guess, I’ll allow you to check the site.”

“Will you come with me and be my bodyguard?” Aziraphale asked with a teasing smile.

The question was stupid and they both knew. There was no way in He…Heav…there was just no way Crowley would ever again be more than a few steps away from Aziraphale if he could help it. And he would absolutely not let his angel investigate a demonic presence on his own. But still Crowley managed to keep a straight face while pretending to contemplate the request.

Finally he purred: “How about that, angel? Tomorrow we’ll go to Ireland and you’re the boss. Tonight we go to bed and I’m the boss.”

An adorable blush spread across the angel’s face. Instead of pointing out that this sounded pretty much like every night they spent together, Aziraphale just gave him shy smile.

“Sounds good to me,” he said.

“We have a deal then?”

“We have a deal!”

[1] The 1390s to be precise

[2] Common to them. Their young guest got quite fidgety after a couple of minutes.

[3] 351 years ago to be precise. Crowley had been incredible drunk while writing it and Aziraphale still could not believe that he had smuggled that book into the Heavenly library after losing a bet to his counterpart. Then again, the demon was very proud of it and his smile had been worth it. But it was a little telling that nobody ever noticed that there was no angel named Yelworc.

[4] To be fair: Aziraphale was passive-aggressive when he was angry. An angry Crowley usually was active-aggressive.

[5] That’s the part that might be confusing to those who have not read „Burning the bridge“.

[6] Crowley was rarely honest with himself. But to his defense: Lying to himself was oh so tempting because it was oh so easy.

[7] Which was ridiculous. No demon except for Crowley thought so many steps ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, I wanted to write something about Dagon and of course I got carried away and wrote a whole first chapter without her. Yeah, that's me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, originally 2 chapters were planned, but it became a little more than I expected. So, I will need one more chapter to wrap this up.

_White marble. Soft golden light. Warmth. Companionship. Love. Home._

_Amaris is Home. Close to Her, close to her friends, walking between the shelves with the collected writings. Joyfully celebrating her love for the written word with those among her brethren who share it._

_Thunder. Lightning. Cold. Betrayal. Hatred. Fall._

_Amaris loses herself. The light and the warmth are gone. She is dwindling downwards and can feel the distance to Home growing. Joy and love fade away, leaving only a faint echo. Suddenly she is slowing down. Her body is engulfed in a hot mass of dark red liquid. Her scream is silent, her lungs are filled and burn. An excruciating pain fills her. Not just her body. The pain pulsates through her vessel and her soul, tugs at the very fabric of her being. It burns, it rips, it tears. The agony is shattering her into a million pieces and puts her back together wrong. When she comes to, the pool she fell in, is gone. Damnation takes a physical form. Hatred and despair manifest in dark stone and pools of lava. She is crawling on the hard ground. There are others and yet she is alone. Frantically she looks around, searching. _

_Belith? _

_Belith? _

_No… _

Gasping Dagon regained consciousness. Instinctively she grabbed her throat and desperately sucked in the air she did not need and yet craved now.

Sleep never came without the nightmares, dreams of… that day. She hated sleep. And she hated her human vessel. It was weak, fragile and needy. Usually it was no problem to cater to her body’s silly needs, but since she had gotten trapped in that stupid cave, her powers failed her. Everything that asked for more than a very minor miracle, did not work. She had been able to make a fire and to intimidate the carbon monoxide enough that it would not even think about killing her in her sleep. But then again, making fire and intimidating were pretty ingrained in a demon’s nature. She could not miracle water or food, she could not heal her broken leg and she could not teleport out of here.

“Think, Dagon!” she growled at herself. “If you get yourself discorporated while looking for a book, they’ll never let you live that down.”

Dagon groaned. She prided herself in being one of the smarter demons. And yet she had stumbled into that cave like an idiot, knowing full well that places like these were filled with human magic. And human magic was not to be underestimated. Too late she had noticed that this was not the cavern she was looking for. It was not the hiding place for old spell books, it was a prison. A prison for supernatural creatures. Somewhere here was a source of countermagic that suppressed magic powers. She should have left immediately when she had felt her powers weaken. But, trusting her stupid physical form she had searched the cave alone, hoping to find something interesting. Then the entrance had collapsed. After trying in vain to miracle herself out of here, she had even humiliated herself so far as to call for help! But through the fallen rubble none of the humans had heard her. She had heard them though. They had been pretty upset, but now they were all gone. She seemed to be alone on the archeological site.

So far she had not even found the runes or sigils securing the place. And even if she did, she could not be sure whether she would be able to break them.

‘Stop thinking like that!’ she thought to herself. ‘Of course you could. You are the Lord of the Files. Of course you can break silly human magic.’

Unfortunately her own current humanity kept her from looking very thoroughly. Stumbling through the cavern, she had tripped and fallen down a slope. She had not seen it because the cave took a slight turn there and only a little light fell through small crevices in the rock stratum above her. It was only a small incline, but it had been enough to break her right leg. Desperately she had crawled through the cave, looking for the source of the crippling magic. But exhaustion, hunger and thirst were taking their toll and she passed out ever so often.

Suddenly she heard voices. The humans had returned. She had caught a glimpse at them before entering the cave. Most of them were males. They would save a woman in distress, trespasser or not. And when she was out of here, she would be more than capable of dealing with them. She halted. Her powers ran low, but still she could feel something that was not human. Only faintly it ran along her supernatural sense, but she was sure she felt an angel.

Shit! Shit! Shit! The last thing she needed now was an angel finding her in this state. Hopefully they carried no Holy Water with them. Did angels do that? Carrying an emergency flask of Holy Water around? Unfortunately she could not say about herself that she had extensive knowledge about typical angel behavior. Maybe she should have read “An Angel’s guide to Heaven”.[1]

Suddenly faced with an even bigger threat than disgraceful discorporation, Dagon dosed her fire to avoid attention. Some small openings in the cave’s ceiling still provided enough daylight to be able to see, but it was that dim light that had caused her little accident and led to her broken leg. She did not need more injuries. Dagon forced herself into a squatting position and pressed her body against the cave’s wall. Biting her lip in pain, she moved along the hard and cold surface to get closer to the voices. Arriving at the slope where she fell, she halted. The voices were close now. Coming from above, slightly sideways from her own position, they told her that their owners were walking over the small hill that housed the cave. She could understand them clearly now thanks to the small gaps above her, even though the sound was a little muffled.

“I don’t feel anything, angel. Maybe it was a false alarm.”

Oh no! That could not be true! Of all supernatural creatures that could show up here it was the demon Crowley, the traitor, whose voice she heard. So the angel she had felt could only be…

“My dear! If she felt a demon, there was a demon. It’s not that there are many signatures that are similar to a demonic presence.”

Great! Crowley and his pet angel. They would definitely carry Holy Water around! They had a lot of demonic enemies and it was not that the stuff could harm one of them. No risk, just benefit.

“Okay, let’s say a demon _was_ here. They’re obviously gone.”

At least her lack of power seemed to hide her from the two outside.

“Just a quick look around! To make sure the demon didn’t… ehm… leave any traps.”

“Traps? That would be very weird. Just admit you’re curious.”

“Maybe a little. I was hoping to find another entr...ahhhhh!”

A loud rumble interrupted and before Dagon could process it, the sound echoed through the cave and grey dust filled the air around her. She heard rocks falling and on instinct rolled away. When the dust had settled, she with great effort suppressed the urge to moan and cough loudly. She turned her head back towards someone else giving in to exactly these urge.

Carefully she glanced around the corner. Principality Aziraphale lay on the caverns ground, behind him an impressive pile of rocks where one of the crevices had been. That clumsy angel actually had managed to cause a miniature landslide. From behind the cluttered boulders sounded the panicked voice of Crowley.

“Angel? Angel! Are you okay?” he called. “Say something!”

Groaning, still hacking out some dust, Aziraphale got to his feet and looked down his body.

“Oh bugger!” the angel whined. “Look at the state of my coat!”

From outside an exasperated noise sounded.

“When I asked if you’re okay, I did not mean your stupid coat!” Crowley growled. “I meant your pretty head and the rest of that delicious body!”

Even in the dim light Dagon could see the angel blushing and wrinkled her nose. The rumors were true. Those two were more than fellow conspirators on humanity’s side. Part of her hoped that Crowley at least got to fuck the angel. Betraying Hell for only a few sweet smiles and some nice words would be too pathetic.

“I’m not seriously injured, I think,” she heard Aziraphale say. “I can stand and I don’t have a headache. A few scratches for sure but nothing serious. Tickety-boo!”

“That’s still not a word, angel!”

“Anyway, I am fine!”

Dagon rolled her eyes. She tripped at a small slope and broke her leg. The stupid angel caused a landslide and was fine.

Aziraphale now snapped his fingers. Then again. And a third time. Then his features grew worried and he called: “Crowley, dear! I have a problem. Something in here weakens my powers!”

“What?!”

“Yes, I can’t miracle out of here,” the angel explained.

“Fuck!” the demon cursed. “I knew this trip meant trouble. Wait a second.”

Suddenly the stones blocking the new opening started to shake but stopped the fracture of a second later.

After a while Crowley spoke again: "I can reach the stones, but my miracles are undone immediately. Damn! Wait there! I will try to use one of these machines the archeologists left. Maybe I can free the original entrance from the rocks.”

“Do I need to remind you that a few minutes ago you put a curse on this place to make sure the machines won’t start working again?”

“Ehm…”

“And how you bragged that this curse will last at least three days?”

“Shit!”

“And how not even Beelzebub herself could lift it premat…”

“Shut up, angel! I got it!” For a while there was silence. Then Crowley spoke again: “Okay! Not gonna leave you in an anti-angel cave for three days. I’ll call Bookgirl,…”

“You know that’s not really her name, right?”

“…maybe she has an idea what this power blocker could be. I need to go back to Millforth to find a phone because… uh…”

“Your curse affected your mobile phone as well, hm?”

“I said shut up, angel! Stay where you are! Don’t get yourself hurt! Love you!”

“I love you, too!”

The angel beamed at the words and Dagon had to look away because for a second he glowed. Literally! Why did that still work? She shuddered at the disgustingly sweet exchange and the display of affection. Then she pressed down the surge of envy she felt.[2]

Outside footsteps sounded and retreated. Aziraphale stopped acting like a lightbulb and sat down with a sigh. Dagon’s thoughts raced. Crowley obviously knew someone who was versed in magic. If he returned and managed to lift the spell, the two might sense her. Dagon was powerful, but she could not fight an angel and a demon at once, especially not with the current state of her vessel.

It was a slim chance, but she had to try and overpower Aziraphale while Crowley was gone. Maybe knock the angel out. Then she could use him as leverage when Crowley returned. He would get her out of here and she could escape. Usually she would try a double cross and abduct the angel after Crowley freed her, but she would not take any chances this time. Just get out of here.

But first she had to get Aziraphale somehow. With her injured leg she could not sneak up on him, of course rushing up to him was no option either and there was no way she could crawl up there without him noticing. Maybe she could lure him towards her by making a noise, loud enough to make him curious but faint enough to keep him unsuspecting?

While she was looking around for anything she could use, she heard Aziraphale move. Turning back to him, she saw him get to his feet and shuffle around the cave-in. He started to fiddle with his dirty coat and wrung his hands.

“’Stay where you are’ is not exactly ‘stay put’, right?” he mumbled. “Sure that leaves some wiggle room. A little exploring won’t hurt. Let’s see.”

The angel snapped his fingers and a little light appeared above his hand. Dagon narrowed her eyes. The magic of this place worked similar on the angel to how it worked on herself. Miracles that came easy to him because they were in his nature still worked. Like carrying light into darkness.

When Aziraphale started to move, she picked up a stone, pressed her lips together to hold back the sound of pain and crouched along the wall to position herself right at the turn. There was no light without shadow and if the angel carried a light source directly before his body, she sure would be able to position herself sideways so that these shadows would hide her. At least the element of surprise was on her side if all other circumstances were not.

But she had underestimated the angel. Whether he had seen her shadow move or his instincts had warned him, she did not know. For whatever reason, before the rock in her hand got even close to his head, Aziraphale let out a gasp of surprise and grabbed her wrist with his left hand, his right soon wrestling the stone out of her fingers. The ensuing struggle was short. They both had no supernatural powers at their disposal. It was a healthy well-fed human male against an injured, hungry human female. It came to no surprise that soon she was on her back, her wrists pinned on the ground. Desperately she tried to throw him off of her, but all her frantic movements were in vain.

“Dear lady!” exclaimed Aziraphale, his magic light orb now behind him, illuminating his hair like a halo. “I must insist that you calm down. Since you obviously suffered the same fate as myself, we should… Dagon?”

When the angel recognized her, his first reaction was to scramble back in shock and fear. Dagon was in too much pain to feel any satisfaction at that. It did not last anyway. As soon as Aziraphale had taken in her appearance the trepidation left his face and changed into something else. To her surprise Dagon recognized concern and sympathy.

“What happened to you?” the angel asked softly.

“What do you think?” she spat. “Same as to you.”

“You fell in here and could not miracle out?”

“Yes. Well, no…,” she admitted. “I walked in here and the entrance collapsed. But my powers don’t work either.”

A strange expression crossed the angel’s face for a moment. It was gone soon and he asked:

“How long…”

“Can we stop the quiz and you get it over with?” she hissed. “Yes, I am helpless, but I will not entertain you before the end.”

“End of what?” He furrowed his brows.

“The end of me of course!” Dagon answered. “Or are you waiting for Crowley? Killing a Lord of Hell together! What a date!”

Aziraphale chuckled softly. Small wrinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes that were lighting up with his smile.

“Crowley was right,” he said softly. “Your lot has no sense for romance.”

A raised brow was her only reaction and after a moment he sighed: “Do you want me to look at that?”

He pointed at her leg that lay useless and in a weird angle on the ground. Without waiting for an answer he let his hands hover over the injured limb and focused.

“Oh, it’s broken!” he exclaimed. “You poor thing! You must be in horrible pain! I’ll fix that.”

“That won’t work, you moron!” Dagon said. “Did you already forget that…”

She stopped mid-sentence to watch in awe how a golden glow appeared in the angel’s palm. Slowly it expanded towards her leg. Soothing warmth engulfed the pained part of her body and she could feel the broken bones be moved into their rightful place and mended there.

Right! A miracle engrained in his nature.

“See?” he spoke in a soft voice. “All better!”

She turned her gaze towards him. And when she looked in his bright blues, shining in the magic orb’s light, it was admittedly hard to swallow down the “Thank you” that threatened to fall from her lips.

[1] She had found it in Hell’s library and tossed it out. After some research she had been sure there was no angel named Yelworc. Besides, how would a book like that end up in Hell’s library? It seemed like a stupid joke and Satan was not known for his sense of humor.

[2] Envy was a sin so Dagon should probably approve of it. But she had always found that particular vice to be very pathetic. If she wanted something, she got it. If she failed getting it, she did not deserve it. Not that that happened very often. The current count was 1 (one) time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I 'm sorry, I'm sorry! I swear I don't do that on purpose, the chapters just keep getting longer than I expected! I promise I won't ever again try to anticipate a story's length before it is done.  
I am quite sure that the forth chapter will be the last, but obviously I know shit. xD  
So here is chapter 3.
> 
> Just in case someone notices and wonders: I changed the OC angel's name in chapter 1 because it was too similar to a character's name in "Why you?" and those two are set in the same universe and I wanted to avoid confusion.

Dagon rubbed her eyes. If she would not have been so incredibly tired, she might have laughed long and hard about the absurdity of the situation.

Currently she was lying close to her re-ignited fire on the cave’s rocky ground. But not on the bare ground. No. A few minutes ago Aziraphale had – with a wistful look – spread out his coat and gestured her to lie on it. After examining the situation for a moment he had frowned, mumbled “That won’t do!” and taken off his ridiculous waist coat to roll it up, turning it into a make-shift pillow. Impatiently he had gestured her to lift her head a little so he could put it under her neck.

“You are in a very worrisome condition, my dear!” he had stated. “No need to make it worse by making you uncomfortable.”

Well, maybe she would not laugh on a normal day. She would most likely incinerate the annoying principality for treating her like a vulnerable helpless human. But truth be told, right now she _was _a vulnerable helpless human. And admittedly after days of pain and fear, being taken care of and being less alone, felt n… not bad.

She had met Aziraphale, but that was a long time ago, a time before time. She did not really know much about his time on Earth. A few reports, a lot of rumors. But he sure was not like the other angels. She came across others now and then and had become object of their scorn more than once. It was especially painful whenever she encountered those she had known before the Fall. Seeing her former friends look at her with contempt and hate was hard to bear. But while Aziraphale sure sported the same aura of angelic arrogance, he managed to pull it off without making her feel like she was a worthless whore. He emitted a warmth and kindness that a human most likely would associate with an angel, a demon however knew better than to expect from the self-righteous bastards of the Host. But this specific angel seemed to be exactly what the mortals believed them to be. To gaze in the eyes of an angel without seeing disdain caused a weird mixture of feelings in Dagon. Surprise, insecurity and… comfort.

“Dagon?” Aziraphale’s soft voice interrupted her musings.

“What?”

“I asked what you are doing here,” said the angel.

That was not good. She really was letting her guard down when she did not even notice someone talking right beside her. Quickly she sat up, making sure she was eye to eye with him.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she gave back, playing down her temporary distraction. “According to my sources you still have that bookshop. You having an interest in archeology, at least in field work, is news to me.”

“I really don’t,” Aziraphale chuckled. “I heard… rumors about a demonic presence here. So I came to look for it. Guess, I found it.”

“Congratulations!” Dagon answered dryly.

“So, now you l know why I am here,” he said. “Why are you?”

Dagon sighed. It was really no secret. It was no official order. She had not found anything of interest. And she was too tired to lie or to deceive.

“I heard about this place and hoped I would find some spell books here. Human magic usually does not work for demons. But sometimes I can vary spells so that I can use them, too.”

“Really?” Aziraphale looked impressed. “That sounds interesting. You have to tell me about that!”

“No, I haven’t,” she snapped.

“Right…” He raised his arms in a placating gesture. After a moment he asked: “Why did you not send someone? You are a Lord of Hell, you sure have people you can task with that kind of treasure hunt. You could have stayed in Hell.”

“Lucky me,” she dead-panned.

He fell silent. Then he tilted his head a little, studying her before nodding his head slowly.

“I guess you have a point,” he finally said. “Hell is – per design – an unpleasant place. I just had always assumed that most demons don’t think so. Especially those with power and influence like you.”

A humorless laugh escaped her before she could stop it as well as her words: “That was then!”

“What was then? That you were powerful?” asked Aziraphale. “My… informant felt quite a lot of power from you.”

“No, I meant… forget it!” Dagon snapped at him.

With a sigh she closed her eyes and pinched her nose bridge between her fingers. It was all too much. The apocalypse business, the treason, the trial, the failed execution, Beelzebub’s current attitudes and now that: trapped in a cave with an angel and only a fracture of her powers. Form shapes nature and right now she was very human shaped with no supernatural force to hold that nature back. The usual calm Lord of the Files was close to losing control of her emotions. Staring intently into the fire like it could burn the feelings away, she struggled to regain her composure when suddenly she felt a warm hand on her shoulder. As she once again met the angel’s gaze, the wall around her soul fissured a little more.

“You don’t know how it is,” she whispered.

“Well, no, I don’t,” Aziraphale nodded. “I’ve never been to Hell.”

She shook her head.

“No, I mean, isolation, loneliness, distrust.” Dagon returned her gaze to the dancing flames. “Sometimes it is easier to just be alone because nobody is around than to be alone even though you are surrounded by people.”

Her companion did not answer immediately. In the corner of her eyes Dagon could see him shuffling with his feet and scratching his chin.

“I think I understand that,” he finally said. “Being alone and being lonely are different things. The former mostly is a matter of circumstances, the latter often comes with rejection or at least the lack of acceptance.”

She turned to him, a little hint of surprise in her face, and nodded: “Yes.”

“But,” he began carefully. “Wasn’t Hell always like that? You speak of loneliness and distrust. Isn’t that the whole point? I mean, demons don’t make friends, do they? They should not trust each other.”

Dagon could not help but chuckle at that.

“You mean like angels should not use back channels?” she asked. “Or should not groom each other’s wings for the pure pleasure of closeness? Don’t tell me you stopped that after the Fall.”

“I don’t know. I was on Earth after Eden was locked,” Aziraphale said. “The only angel I met on a regular basis was Gabriel and he sure did not offer to groom my wings.”

They fell silent. They locked eyes. And both could not keep a grin from spreading across their faces

“Okay, okay, Gabriel is a bad example, I will admit it,” Dagon grinned. “One would think that stick up his ass turned brittle after all this millennia.”

“Assuming it’s wooden…,” Aziraphale argued.

Now Dagon laughed. It was not even that funny. And yet she laughed an honest laugh – the first since the Fall. After a while is faded into a chuckle before it stopped completely and she cleared her throat.

“Anyway, what I mean is that there are certain things we should not do but do nonetheless because else it would not work,” Dagon spoke again after a moment. “Like trusting each other. Sure, demons watch their back, we do not trust easily. But even we cannot forever hate and distrust everyone around us. We weren’t created that way. We were members of the Host. Fallen or not. A part of us will always seek out connection, security and trust. Even Satan. He trusted Crowley. Believed in him. He was wrong.”

“Did you trust Crowley, too?” Aziraphale asked. “Is this why…?”

“Hell, no!” she laughed. “I never trusted that arrogant bastard. I always felt like he was up to something. But you don’t badmouth Satan’s favorites in Hell! But Beelzebub… She…”

“She trusted him?”

Dagon pressed her lips together while she pondered that question.

“Not directly, no. At least I don’t think so,” she answered after giving it some thought. “She trusted Satan’s judgement I think. And knowing now that even Satan can be fooled and trust the wrong people,…”

“She is more wary and doesn’t trust people anymore,” Aziraphale finished the sentence for her, but after studying her expression for a while, his eyes grew wide and he finally stated: “She doesn’t trust _you_ anymore!”

Dagon swallowed. Slowly she nodded.

“No, she doesn’t,” she sighed. “I guess she thinks I should have seen the treason coming and warn her. She probably expected me to find out what went wrong with the Holy Water or why everything was restored but Ligur. And I…”

“Did she say that?” Aziraphale interrupted her, his eyes wide in surprise at her suddenly wordy attitude.

“Well, no, but…”

“Even though you know Beelzebub better than I do, I dare say I got a pretty good impression of her at the airbase. And she did not strike me as the passive-aggressive type,” the principality said.

“So?”

“What I mean is,” Aziraphale elaborated. “If she was angry at you for not foreseeing Crowley’s actions, for the failed execution and what not, she would be very vocal about it, don’t you think?”

Dagon furrowed her brows, thinking about his words. He was not wrong. The Prince of Hell never held back in her wrath at someone. It was rarely directed a Dagon, but when Beelzebub was dissatisfied she let those who caused it know. But still, it was not the same with her as before.

“Before that whole apocalypse business, I’d said you’re right,” Dagon admitted to the angel. “But she has changed. She talks to me less. And if she does, it’s all business.”

“I am sure nobody was left unchanged by what happened in Tadfield and after,” the angel sighed. “So maybe she doubts the trustworthiness of the fr… allies she has, but that does not mean she blames you. I am sure if the Prince of Hell blamed you for treason AND the traitor getting away, you knew.”

After he had spoken, Dagon blinked. It was true. How was she so sure that Beelzebub was mad at her, when all evidence was to the contrary?

“Is it possible,” Aziraphale went on, apparently reading her mind. “That _you_ blame yourself for all that? That _you_ feel like you let her down and deserved her contempt?”

“I…”

“ANGEL!”

Both beings jumped at Crowley’s voice booming through the cavern from above them. After he had recovered from the shock, Aziraphale sighing got to his feet.

“Good Lord, Crowley,” he admonished while getting closer to the crevice Crowley was speaking through. “You’ll make the whole cave collapse and give me a heartattack.”

“Just wanted to make sure you hear me.” The grin in Crowley’s voice was audible.

“Well, you accomplished that, my dear,” Aziraphale answered laconically.

“Well, I _am _good at what I do, dove,” the demon outside the cave laughed and then he wanted to know: “All good? Anything out of the ordinary happen?”

Dagon tensed and pressed herself against the wall. This was it. Aziraphale would tell Crowley she was here, Crowley would get some Holy Water and kill her as soon as he found a way to overcome the cavern’s magic protection.

“Out of the ordinary?” Aziraphale laughed, wringing his hands nervously. “Like what? Like I encountered a Lord of Hell and had a chat?”

“Very funny, angel!” Crowley growled. “I just want to know if you’re okay.”

“I am fine, my dear,” Aziraphale assured. “Did you talk to Anathema?”

“Yeah, about that. She said she can build me a… thingy that can detect the magic’s source so we can neutralize it, but I’ll have to go to Tadfield to fetch it.”

“Oh dear, I am sorry!”

“_You_ are sorry, angel?” the demon asked with a humorless chuckle. “_You_ are the one to be stuck in here for a while. Speaking of: I brought some water bottles and some chocolate bars. I will throw them down through the crevice.”

“Thank you, dear,” Aziraphale beamed. “With caramel?”

“Of course,” Crowley sighed. “I’m glad you have your priorities straight, angel. Careful now! Incoming!”

Aziraphale stepped aside, called “All clear!” and watched as three plastic bottles of water hit the ground, followed by at least a dozen chocolate bars.

“Are the bottles okay?” Crowley wanted to know.

“No damages,” Aziraphale announced.

“Good,” the demon said. “Okay now, I should be back tomorrow. I will fly. I don’t need the attention a miracle teleporting me from here to Tadfield will grant me. Please take care, angel.”

“I love you, Crowley,” Aziraphale smiled softly and Dagon rolled her eyes.[1]

“I love you, too, babe,” the demon gave back. “See you soon.”

“Be safe, dear.”

“’Course, angel.”

With that Crowley’s footsteps retreated. But Aziraphale did not move. He kept staring wistfully at the crevice.

“Ehm… you know that he is gone, right?” Dagon asked after a while.

“What? Oh, of course!”

“Why didn’t you tell him?” She asked. “About me? That I am here.”

“Oh, you know…,” the angel began while collecting the water and the sweets. “He tends to be a little overprotective and if he knew you were here, he might have done something reckless, like…”

“…miracling his idiot ass in here to kill me with no consideration of the question how to get out of here afterwards?”

Aziraphale cleared his throat.

“Yes, something like that.”

Shaking her head, Dagon let herself fall back on the make-shift lair Aziraphale had made her from his clothes. The last thing she wanted was falling asleep in her current situation, but her limbs denied keeping up any sitting let alone standing position. I addition there was an annoying little part of her that felt so incredible safe in the presence of the angel and practically begged to sleep under his protection.

“That was pretty clever.” She broke the silence, partly to keep awake, partly because she really thought so.

“What exactly?”

“How you deceived him. Crowley, I mean,” Dagon explained. “You combined the ‘counter question instead of an answer’ with ‘lying with the truth’. Not bad! Though if he had seen you, he’d been on to you, I think. You were fidgeting with your hands and your ears turned red. Looked funny.”

“I am glad to have entertained my Lord so well,” Aziraphale dead-panned and started to neatly sort the chocolate bars. “He probably would have seen through me any other day, but he is very worried.”

“Not so worried as he would be if he knew you were with me.”

“Probably,” the angel nodded but added a little smugly: “But you and I know that you will not harm me, right?”

He did not add ‘because you couldn’t if you tried’ and he did not have to. Dagon still narrowed her eyes for good measure before staring at the ceiling, her hands folded above her stomach. But in her periphery she saw the angel staring at her.

“What?” she asked, far less aggressive and far more insecure than she intended.

“Hmm?” Apparently he had been deep in thought and blushed slightly. “I apologize. It’s just… When I look at you… not only you… often when I meet a demon, they look so familiar, even though I never met them before, but…”

“…when you try to remember where you saw them before, your mind gets all fuzzy and you lose the thought.”

“Yes! How do you know?”

Dagon shook her head and chuckled.

“The archangels don’t tell you guys much, do they?” she asked without wanting an answer. “It’s the ‘Fading’”

“Huh?”

“What you’re experiencing. The ‘Fading’,” she explained. “When we, the rebels, Fell from Heaven, God messed with your mind. Yours and those of the other angels. Whether it was to spare you the pain of losing us or to punish us further by taking our brethrens’ love from us, I don’t know.”

“So now you remember the angel I was, but when you try to think about her, you can’t. You would never know that I am her. Or that I _was_ her. Your mind gets fuzzy and you cannot think clearly until you give up. Have you never wondered why so many angels Fell and yet you did not miss one of your friends? Would be one _Hell**[2]**_ of a coincidence, wouldn’t it?”

“Now that you mention it…,” he admitted slowly, but then his eyes lit up and he smiled: “So we knew each other!”

“Yes, we did.”

“What was your name?”

“I cannot tell you… well, I can, but it won’t last. You will forget.”

“Really? Have you tried?”

Dagon’s face fell and a pained expression flicked across it.

_Belith lies on the ground, wrists pinned by his hands. Her beautiful face contorted by pain, hurt and desperation. The long hair in wild black strains, unruly due to the fight._

_“Gabriel! It’s me!” she cries. “Belith! You must recognize me!”_

_At his name he perks up, surprised, but when she says her own, his eyes go blank for a moment and surprise turns into utter confusion. He presses his eyelids together and shakes his head as if to chase away the fog in his mind, never letting go of her wrists._

_When he opens his eyes again the cold determination is back, not fazed by Belith’s pleas and cries._

_“Please, Gabriel!” she tries again. “It’s me! Belith! You must remember me!”_

_Once more an utterly empty expression is the answer. Only this time when he regains his composure, he lets out a cry of rage. He jumps to his feet, pulling her with him. Helpless she dangles in his grip._

_“Stop your dirty magic, demon!” he snarls. “Whatever mind tricks you play, I won’t be bested! I will not let you near my brethren!”_

_“But Gabriel, I…”_

_“Silence!” he roars, letting go of her left wrist to use the now free hand to slap across her face with all the strength he can muster. The attack renders her unconscious. She falls limb in his grasp, but he just lets go of her and she hits the ground, hard._

_With an expression of disdain and scorn he pulls his two-bladed sword from his back. As soon as it is firm in his grip, holy flames dance around the blade._

_“You shall not sully Her creation any longer, demon!” he announces, lifting his weapon._

_That’s when Amaris reaches them, dagger in hand. That’s when Gabriel gets discorporated for the first time ever, and the last so far._

_When Belith comes to her senses, she cries in Amaris’ arms and does not stop for hours._

“Dagon?” A male voice called her name. “Are you quite alright?”

“Ah, yes!” she said a little too quickly. “And to answer your question: No, but a friend of mine tried, not a chance!”

He made a noise of acknowledgement and seemed to think about something. Then he smiled and said enthusiastically: “Let’s try anyway!”

“What part of ‘not a chance’ did you not understand?” she exclaimed with a face that was not sure whether to scowl or laugh and therefor decided to wear an extraordinary incredulous expression.

“Oh come on! Maybe the effect wore off…”

“Wore off? God’s very own doing? Are you serious?”

“It happens!”

“It literally does not!”

“Please!” The angel pushed his lower lip a tad forward and raised his eyebrows.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your face…”

“What’s wrong with my face?”

“Well, you… your mouth does that… thing and your brows…I…”

“Just tell me your old name, please!”

“I… fine!”

And Dagon told him. Then she told him again. And a third time.

Everytime the angel’s face lit up in recognition for the fracture of a second, only to fall blank immediately and then confused. Aziraphale glowed with enthusiasm – again, literally!

“That is fascinating!” he exclaimed eagerly. “It’s there, clear as day and then it is not!”

“You mean, just like I told you?” Dagon asked sarcastically.

“Yes!” he nodded with a broad smile. “One more time?”

“No!” she decided firmly. “It’s not fun to say that name over and over again.”

“Oh sorry!” His happy expression faded away and he looked guilty. “I didn’t even think about this.”

“It’s fine!” she said quickly. His empathy and sympathy brushed too sweetly over her damned soul and she was quick to add: “My main reason for stopping is that my chances of Crowley _not_ killing me are higher when I do _not_ cause any damage in your holy brains.”

He smiled at that and grabbed two water bottles. Reluctantly she took the one he offered her silently. Food and drink were weird, but her human body needed it now. So she accepted the chocolate bar as well. It was not half bad.

“Maybe it will last in my memory if I get it myself!” Aziraphale spoke after a while.

“Hmm?” she made, chewing on her chocolate.

“Your name. Maybe I won’t forget it, if I guess it.”

“That’s silly!”

“Why?” he pouted. “You said I remember the name of the angel you were, I just cannot connect her to you. So the name is in my brain.”

“I don’t think…”

“Let’s play ’20 questions’!” he beamed as if just had invented the wheel.

“What?”

“It’s a game humans play. I get to ask you 20 yes-or-no questions that you have to answer truthfully. Then I have to guess who you are,” he explained full of excitement. “Humans play it with historical personalities or well-known fictional characters, but I try to guess you!”

“Aziraphale…”

“Oh, come on! It will be fun. 20 questions! If I don’t guess it correctly or forget immediately, we’ll leave it be, okay?” Again he pulled that strange grimace that had a weird effect on her chest.

“You won’t shut up about it, will you?”

“Probably not.”

“Fine!”

Full of eagerness he clapped his hands before he directed his gaze upwards, thinking about his first question.

“Hmm… Did you always have a female vessel?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Did we meet in the library?”

“Were you ever anywhere else, Aziraphale?” she chuckled softly, shocked at the amount of fondness that swung in her voice.

“That’s not a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’,” he said sternly, only to add softly: “But I will admit you have a point. And I take that as a ‘yes’.”

“Clever,” she dead-panned.

“Hmmpf,” he made good naturedly. “Visitor or employee?”

“How is that a yes-or-no-question?”

“Right!” Aziraphale nodded guiltily. “Were you an employee of the library?”

“Yes.”

“Did we work together?”

“Yes.”

“Did you like working with me?”

“Are you kidding? You were the only one who EVER listened to my suggestions!” she suddenly exclaimed. “Metatron, that arrogant bastard, would not recognize an efficient sorting system if it bit him in his flat ass.”

Aziraphale fell silent and just stared at Dagon. Dagon stared right back. The angel’s bright blue eyes shone in the fire’s light and his face took an expression of complete understanding. He tilted his head and spoke. It was neither a guess nor a question. It was a statement.

“Amaris.”

_Bright white light floods her vision. Melodious laughter, kind words and soft songs reach her ears. Her nostrils are filled with a sweet and rich smell, long forgotten and then again, never forgotten. There is light, there is kindness, there is love. It is Home._

_And there is Belith. Her skin is like ivory, flawless and glowing in the Heavenly light surrounding her. Her face’s soft features are framed by long hair with the color of the nightly sky and her eyes twinkle in a rich turquois. Her lithe form moves elegantly through the endless corridors and her ever eager mind conjures up so many questions. She teases sometimes, makes fun, not many angels do that. Amaris likes it and starts joking back. It is appreciated, she notices._

_But even when Belith is close enough to touch, she is so far away. Gabriel has her love, the Morning Star her admiration and so Amaris takes what is left: Every friendly greeting, every curious question, every grateful smile and every incidental touch. Amaris is captured in her light and walks by her side. Listens, feels, watches. Watches her torn between two suitors, two ideas. Standing at a crossroad between two paths. One old and safe and full of love, one new and exciting and full of answers. Answers that in the end will provide more questions. But Belith is too smart, too curious and too free spirited to walk the old path. And when she follows the Morning Star into the Unknown, Amaris follows her. The smile Belith gives her when she says so is her last memory of Heaven._

_And the only one worth Falling for._

[1] She did not know much about romance, but she knew a lot about communication. She believed in efficient exchange of information. And the information that Aziraphale loved Crowley as well as the other way around had been exchanged an hour ago. Repeating it took valueable time that could be used better.

[2] Dagon was well aware of the pun and proud of it. But for a demon she rarely bragged.


	4. Chapter 4

She had no idea how long she had been out of it. Hearing her old name, spoken by an angel, had been as surprising as impactful. But when the bittersweet memories finally faded and she found herself in the stuffy dark cave instead of sweet smelling bright Heaven, she was sobbing. Regaining her orientation, she found her head on one of Aziraphale’s sturdy legs, his coat draped over the rest of her body. His warm hand stroked her hair and his soft voices made soothing noises above her.

Her fire was burning low by now and outside the sun must have already set because it was dark in the cavern, light and heat of the flames slowly fading out.

“Ama…,” Aziraphale started quietly, but she shushed him.

“Don’t!” She wanted to sound commanding, wielding the authority of a Lord of Hell, but it came out like the pitiful plea of a desperate beggar. “This is no longer my name and obviously I react… strongly to hearing it from an angel, so if you please…”

“Of course.” She did not see him, but she heard the tender smile in his voice. “I just wanted you to know that I haven’t forgotten!”

She laughed faintly.

“Unbelievable. We are talking about the Fading, one of God’s oldest curses and you best it because of my sorting system.” Dagon said, still a little hoarse from crying.

“To be fair, it saved my life. Metaphorically speaking,” Aziraphale answered. “You wouldn’t believe the utter mess Metatron left when he was promoted.”

“Actually, I do believe it,” she scoffed. “Such a stickler but could not for the love of…whoever keep a library in order.”

“He did not really care about the words we collected there, I think,” Aziraphale stated. “Not like you.”

“Or you.”

The angel smiled.

“Hmm,” he made thoughtfully. “It was good for the library that he got called away.”

“Too bad I was gone then, too,” Dagon said.

“I was not there for long after the rebellion either,” Aziraphale told her. “I got called to guard the Gates of Eden.”

“Yes, I never understood. Why did they…”

“Hard to explain,” he interrupted her quickly.[1]

They shared some memories of Heaven, but soon those became painful. Dagon did not say it, but obviously the fact that her answers became less wordy with every question was enough for Aziraphale to notice and he elegantly changed the topic and spoke about his time on earth, especially his bookshop. At some point when he ranted about his customers, Dagon wanted to question his definition of ‘shop’, but her tongue had grown heavy and her thoughts were hazy. She no longer thought about being vigilant. She just let herself drift away, wrapped up comfortable in the knowledge that an angel watched over her sleep. 

She did not dream of Falling this time. She dreamed only of Heaven and of Belith. Ironically while it made dreaming more pleasant, it made waking more painful.

But she hardly had time to wallow in her misery when she finally realized that it was a well-known voice that had ended her sleep. The first streams of red and gold fell through the crevices and gaps and outside Crowley called for Aziraphale.

“Angel, are you there?”

“Where else would I be, my dear?”

“Right,” Crowley huffed. “I brought the thing. Anathema says I should be able to miracle it into the cave. Wait.”

Soon enough a long wood twig, branching in two at one end, appeared in Aziraphale’s hand.

“That’s it?” Aziraphale said with a hint of haughtiness in his tone. “A lifetime of witchcraft behind her, standing on the shoulders of generations of witches and she comes up with a dowser to detect magic?”

“That’s what I said,” Crowley agreed. “Well, actually I didn’t use so many words, but I asked ‘Whaaaat? A dowser?’ She insisted that she carved in the needed runes and put the right spell on the thing. So try it. If it doesn’t work I’ll drag her cute butt here and she needs to get you out of there!”

“Did you just say that Anathema has a ‘cute’ butt?” the angel asked, his voice calm but so dangerously cold that even Dagon shivered lightly.

The silence that followed was a little too long and finally interrupted by a very offended: “No!”

“Yes, well, I didn’t think so,” Aziraphale said snippy and grabbed the dowser with both hands.

It turned out that the witch had done a good job. Soon the dowser started twitching in the angel’s grip and Dagon followed him – silently as not to be noticed by Crowley – through the cavern. After a while they found, well hidden under a pile of rocks, a combination of ancient runes. Together Dagon and Aziraphale could easily manipulate them.

“How are you?” Aziraphale asked quietly.

“I am still weakened, but I feel my powers returning,” Dagon whispered back.

“Yes, me too,” the angel nodded with a smile.

Dagon bit her lip. She started to wonder whether it had been the old runes that had somehow weakened or blocked the effects of the Fading on Aziraphale. Not that it meant anything. It was not important. They would go their separate ways soon.

Again the angel seemed to read her mind.

“I still know it,” he said with a soft smile. “Your name.”

“So what?” she tried to sound dismissive. “Are you gonna say it to knock me out again?”

But he just kept smiling, not fazed in the slightest.

“Hey, angel!” Crowley called, now slightly muffled because Dagon and Aziraphale had ventured deeper into the cavern. “Found something yet?”

“Ehm… I’ll be done in a jiffy, dear,” Aziraphale answered. “Just give me another minute.”

“Why?” the demon shouted back and the air shifted. “So you can hide Dagon here from me?”

Both Dagon and Aziraphale spun around, staring at Crowley who suddenly stood right behind them.

He ignored the Lord of Hell completely but cast the angel a very stern and disapproving look.

“You meet Dagon in here and don’t think of telling me?” he asked in a dangerous tone.

“How did you…”

“Oh, I have my sources!” Crowley snapped his fingers.

“What sources?” asked Aziraphale and when he had spoken they were outside the cave.

Dagon spotted Crowley’s “source” immediately. Up the hill above the cave a lithe figure dressed in black stood. The wind moved through her chin-long black hair but did not dare to tousle it or blow it in her pale face. She had her arms crossed and anger shone in her blue-green eyes. Slowly she started to descend from the knoll, without question expecting Dagon to meet her halfway. And so the Lord of the Files started to move. She heard Aziraphale and Crowley follow with a few steps distance.

When she was only a few meters away, she bowed.

“Lord Beelzebub,” she greeted respectfully, glancing to the ground for a few seconds before meeting her superior’s eyes.

“Dagon! How nice to see you!” Beelzebub smiled too sweetly, thick sarcasm dropping from her lips. Soon enough she thundered: “What in the name of all that’s damned were you thinking? It’s been days, Dagon! If I hadn’t met pea brains over there, I might still be looking for you!”

She gestured towards Crowley who stood in some distance, arms crossed, and rolling his eyes, maybe at Beelzebub’s insult, maybe at Aziraphale who with great interest studied a snail.

“I beg your forgiveness, my Prince!” Dagon answered quietly. “I did not plan to stay away so long. I was hoping to find some magic that could be of use for us.”

“Why did you not send someone?”

“You have them all quiet busy at the moment, my Prince,” the Lord of the Files explained. “I did not want to interfere with the schedule you put up.”

“Of course, I keep them busy,” Beelzebub snarled. “Wouldn’t want them to have time to get funny ideas!”

Again her gaze wandered towards Crowley.

“But,” she continued. “You could have told me about your little project. I could have assigned someone. Why didn’t you?”

Dagon swallowed. It was unwise to make the Prince of Hell wait for an answer. But she needed a moment to word her thoughts. Gathering her courage she looked into those expressive eyes. Most of the time they seemed to be grey when she saw them in hell. Close to a fire or a candle a little glimpse of their real color was visible. But here on Earth in the early morning’s light they shone in all the nuances of blue and green. It ignited a certain boldness in Dagon.

“Forgive me, my Prince,” she said pointedly. “But lately you did not seem to enjoy my company so I chose not to bother you and take care of it myself. I had not expected you to notice my absence.”

Beelzebub opened her mouth and stared at Dagon. She was at loss of words, a rather rare occurrence. When she finally spoke up again, her anger had not faded, but her mood had shifted.

“Not notice your…?” The Prince of Hell struggled with her words. “Dagon, you are my right hand! Of course I notice when you are not by my side. You don’t want to be a bother? It would bother me much more to lose you! I need you!”

Now it was Dagon’s turn to stare open-mouthed.

“I mean, well,” Beelzebub stuttered. “As I said, you’re my right hand. If I lose you, I need a new one. And it takes forever to teach demons how to get things done the way I want it. Not even to speak of the fact that if you were gone, Hastur would be the most suitable candidate. Which is a terrifying thought.”

“I see.”

“I need my right hand. That… that’s it,” the Prince repeated, cleared her throat and announced: “So your insubordination will not be punished because I need you fully functioning. But be assured that next time I will not be so lenient.”

“Of course, Lord Beelzebub!”

“Alright! Since you are probably still too weakened for travelling to Hell by yourself due to the magic you were subjected to, I will open a portal! Keep an eye on those two clowns so they don’t try anything while I focus on the portal.”

Dagon stepped to Aziraphale and Crowley.

“Well, I guess I owe you a thanks,” she said to them. “Aziraphale for healing me, Crowley for not killing me.”

She left out a lot that had happened between her and the angel, but she was sure he knew it was included in the thanks.

“Oh, it was my pleasure!” the angel smiled.

“Yeah, can’t say the same…,” Crowley said, but after Aziraphale nudged him, he added: “But you’re welcome.”

They stood there in silence, not comfortable but not uncomfortable either, just silent.

“I think I should get a few steps away. Beelzebub’s magic makes me a bit nauseous,” the angel informed after a while and bid his farewell: “Well, have a safe trip home, Lord Dagon.”

“You, too, Principality Aziraphale,” Dagon answered and watched as Aziraphale walked down the hill.

Crowley turned to follow him, but Dagon held him back for a moment.

“What?” the demon asked irritably.

“I… just want you to know: I understand,” she told him and – when seeing his confused look – elaborated: “Why you chose him. Over the Great Plan. Over Hell. Even over Satan.”

She pointed her chin at Aziraphale and grinned: “He really is a piece of Heaven.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes at her, studying her face as if looking for a trick or waiting for a punchline. But she was sincere and he seemed to notice.

“Well”, he spoke, uncharacteristically compassionate. “I could say something like ‘Find your own angel!’, but we both know that would not do. Aziraphale is an exception. The rest of them are arrogant, self-righteous and cold bastards.”

“Maybe not all of them.”

“Who knows?” Crowley shrugged and claimed with a barely concealed threat in his voice: “Anyway, that one’s mine!”

“Yes,” she nodded. “I noticed.”

Crowley gave a satisfied grunt and finally followed Aziraphale down the hill.

“Dagon!” Beelzebub called. “The portal is open. Follow me!”

The Lord of the Files turned to her superior and bowed.

“Of course, my Prince,” she answered. “I always do.”

*

An hour later in a tavern at the center of the village of Millforth a demon questioned his angel about the last night. It was after all the first night they had not spent together for quite a while.

“So, you and Dagon were pals before the Fall and you overcame the Fading when you two were nerding out about book stuff last night?” Crowley recapitulated.

“While some of your semantics are questionable, your summary is accurate,” Aziraphale agreed with a smile.

“Questionable semantics!” the demon snorted. “Yeah, that’s me!”

He waved at the barman for more whiskey and the man complied, remembering the generous tip he had gotten in advance when the two strange men had entered his humble establishment.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked after a couple of drinks. “When we met in Eden, you did not seem familiar. Unlike other demons. So we never met in Heaven?”

“Well, I had never seen you. It’s possible you saw me in the library once or twice, but we never spoke so I cannot have left an impression deep enough to make me look familiar after the Fading,” Crowley explained. “I think angels only have a vague recollection of the Fallen they actually engaged with before the rebellion.”

“And you and I didn’t.”

“No. I…,” Crowley took a sip from his glass, looking hesitant all of a sudden. “I was a pretty arrogant jerk. I wouldn’t have talked to a little archivist and librarian.”

The demon looked bashful, but after a short moment of surprise Aziraphale only grinned playfully.

“So, you’re saying, I am lucky that you Fell?” he asked teasingly.

Crowley leaned over to him, grabbed his chin tenderly and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“No, angel,” he whispered. “_I_ am!”

The End

[1] See „Why you?“. Aziraphale just tends to end up in weird situations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! The ending of "I understand"! Thanks to everybody who took the time to read, leave a kudo and/or write a kind comment! It's really appreciated!
> 
> Maybe I will write a companionpiece about what Crowley was up to while Aziraphale had a slumber party with Dagon. My brain is in full "Good Omens Mode" anyway so why not keep writing? ;)


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